


Little Robin Lost

by Lady_Paper_Writerson



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Titans (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Batfamily (DCU) Feels, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Multi, Psychological Trauma, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:54:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21639175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Paper_Writerson/pseuds/Lady_Paper_Writerson
Summary: A person can take so much before they break.Canon Divergence. AU where, after Jason is wrongfully cornered by the entire team (S02E7), he actually proceeds with his original plan to run away.
Relationships: Dawn Granger/Hank Hall, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson/Koriand'r, Hank Hall & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 170
Kudos: 785





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, everyone! :)
> 
> Sooooo... guilty as charged. Instead of continuing my ongoing stories, well, here's a new one. XD
> 
> Thing is, I'm quite bitter over everything that happened in the few last episodes of Titans, and the finale really disappointed me, giving us poorly written character arcs and offering no resolution to various important, heavily emotional things they'd started building up in the earlier episodes (like, say, _any_ kind of relationship between Jason and Hank).
> 
> Mostly, I tend to use Bruce as something more than a tool to move the plot forward. I'm also trying to give Hank and Dawn something worthwhile to do, instead of just having them walking around looking pretty (which, frankly, is all they did this season).
> 
> Hope you enjoy! :)

“You people are insane! I’d rather be with Deathstroke than with you, assholes. You think everything is my fault…”

The elevator’s doors part. Hank’s attention shifts from the devastation written on the boy’s face as Dick walks into the room, almost out of breath. Looking absolutely… shocked.

“He’s here,” he whispers to them, eyes wide in agony.

Hank lifts an eyebrow, not bothering to try and hide his confusion. “What?” he asks, and just then notices the freaking _gun_ in Dick’s hand.

He gets immediately agitated, instinctively making sure he’s close enough to Dawn, for good measure.

“Deathstroke, here, in the tower,” he rasps. “He took pictures of all of us…”

“Can’t a guy sleep in?”

The drowsy voice, that Hank identifies as Gar’s, comes from somewhere behind him, but he doesn’t pay attention. Neither does anyone else. Everyone’s eyes are focused on Dick. On that gun.

“Dick,” he raises the volume just a bit, which thankfully manages to earn him Dick’s attention. The eyes looking at him are still frantic, but at least he does seem to listen. “Talk to me. What’s with the gun?” he then urges, voice calm and steady.

Dick’s lips slightly part, as if he’s about to say something. He doesn’t. Instead, all of a sudden, he glances at the opposite direction. He stares at… _nothing,_ for a moment, before he turns his head left and right, as if he’s looking for someone.

“Jason,” he then gasps, rushing towards the door leading to the rooftop.

Indeed, Hank just now realizes the boy’s no longer in the room.

“… oookay. Stay here,” he murmurs to everyone, following behind Dick with wide strides.

“Hank, be careful,” Dawn’s nervous voice advices him.

He nods, without looking back at her.

* * *

Dick is ready to jump to the opposite building -just like that, no suit or equipment or anything- when Hank catches up with him, grabbing at his t-shirt and pulling him back.

“What the hell, man!” he shouts at him. “Are you out of your mind? _Talk to me!_ And hide that thing away!”

Dick shakes his head, frantically. “Jason, I have to bring him back, he can’t be out there alone right now…”

Hank glances at the opposite rooftop. There’s currently no sign of the kid anywhere nearby. It’s an impossible jump for most people, but… not for a Robin, he supposes. And, despite how outrageously annoying that little shit is… he sure carries a whole lot of daredevil vibes. He has to give him that.

“Calm the fuck down, where on earth can he go? He’ll let his little tantrum run out and he’ll be back in a few hours! Jesus! _Put the fucking gun away!”_

Dick exhales noisily, hiding the gun at the back of his belt. “What tantrum?”

Hank grimaces. “You first. What were you saying about Deathstroke?”

Dick draws a shaky breath inside, running a hand through his hair, trying to recollect himself. “He has access here, in the tower. I… I don’t know how, or since when, but… he’s doing things, you understand? Trying to… get into our heads… drive us mad… bring us to out limits…”

It feels as if someone just emptied a bucket of icy-cold water at his spine. “I… Deathstroke… are you sure about that?”

Dick closes his eyes and nods.

“You’re sure. You’re sure that Deathstroke did those things?”

Another nod. “He set up a scenery for me. He has photos of all of us, in here, at all times. Regular hours, training, private moments…”

Hank’s gaze fixes at the direction Jason must have followed just minutes ago, as he desperately made his way away from them.

Shit. _Shit._

“Hank.”

He turns.

Dick suddenly looks… heavy. Exhausted, and… pained. “There’s something I need to tell you,” he stutters. “All of you.”

* * *

Hank sits there and listens, until he doesn’t anymore. Until he loses focus, and the words no longer matter. Until the cold, grey veil of betrayal has been tightly wrapped around him, clouding his mind, his vision, his judgement.

“I’m sorry,” is what comes at the end of the speech. “You all deserved more.”

Hank gets up and slowly closes the distance between them, before he even processes his next move. By the moment he stands face to face with him, he still hasn’t decided on what he’s about to do. He momentarily tries to read Dick’s expression, and locates only tiny shreds of remorse. Apparently, the agonized need to hear that he’s forgiven, or even that he’s done nothing wrong, overpowers everything else.

He doesn’t bother to even try and hold back. His fist connecting to that handsome face is something he’s been desiring for some time now, after all. The cracking sound is music to his ears. The pained, wet gasp, beyond satisfying. The evidence of blood, a pleasant sight.

“Lying sack of shit!” he spits the words.

He wants to do more. He wants to go for it.

“Hey,” Dawn’s soft voice pierces through the storm of rage, her steady grip on him managing to keep him by her side.

The former Robin straightens his back slowly, and opens his damn mouth to say something, but he’s interrupted by the sound of the elevator, announcing someone coming up.

“What the fuck?” Donna numbly mumbles, jumping at her feet.

She’s not the only one to react this way. Rachel and Kori are also up in an instant, and Hank feels Dawn abandoning her grip on his arm, to presumably resume a fighting pose. He knows, because he’s already done the exact same thing. In front of him, Dick wipes some of the blood now staining his face with the back of his hand, eyes wide in shock as he spins around and takes a step forward, towards the still sealed doors.

Jason’s the only one missing, and it’s doubtful that he intends to come back any time soon. Which means that this… is a security breach. Despite the lack of any warnings from the centric system. Despite no alarm having gone off.

“Stand your ground!” Dick hisses.

He doesn’t have the time to get furious at himself that Dick’s voice still, after everything he’s just heard, registers to him as their leader’s voice, having him acting accordingly. There’s a sound of something sharp cutting through the air, and Hank would bet that, if he turned around right now, he would see Donna having grabbed the largest kitchen knife.

The utter, absolute silence seems to last an entire lifetime.

Three floors away.

Two floors away.

One floor away.

The soft, buzzing sound accompanies the grand entrance. The doors part, to reveal…

… definitely _not_ Deathstroke.

“Bruce!” Dick gasps.

Hank relaxes and winces at the same time, taking a step back.

The billionaire is dressed in all black, as casually as a man of his status would allow himself while presenting in public. He’s elegant and neat, just as he always is. Tidy. All fabrics straight. Hair thoroughly combed back. And yet, that grim, stern look carved on that face, the dark, furious spark (and that’s _Batman’s_ darkness, Hank can tell) in his eyes, serve as both a warning and a threat.

It’s quite obvious that this ride will be even _less_ fun than the previous one.

The man slowly walks into the room, pausing a few steps later. His gaze slowly travels to each and every person present, scanning them, before eventually ending up back to the man of the hour.

He doesn’t even comment on the blood staining Dick’s face. He just takes his cellphone out while approaching him, touches it twice, and then turns the screen for Dick and the rest of them to see.

“What… is this?” he asks, voice terrifyingly calm.

Dick’s audibly swallowing, and frankly, this time, Hank can’t blame him; he’s royally fucked.

He focuses on the YouTube video playing on the screen, shot with a cell phone’s camera -the comments of various people can be clearly heard in the background. He watches, thankfully not live this time, as Jason’s hand slips from Dick’s grip, and he falls, down into the void, only to be caught, long before he’s even close to the ground. The whole thing had lasted no more than a few seconds, and yet, even a single thought of it still manages to make Hank cringe, his heart skipping a beat. It was a shocking thing to witness. Starkly terrifying. Those long, unbearable seconds, when none of them could do anything but watch, as they all together failed once more. This time, paying the cost with a child’s life.

Wayne pauses the video, face blank, and taps a few more things at the screen. “This,” he goes on, “was recorded by an ATM machine’s camera, located outside a deli at the back of the same building, not two minutes later.”

The footage showcased the emergency exit’s door bouncing open so harshly it gets ripped from its hinges, as Deathstroke exits the building. Vaguely, Hank uncomfortably notes that they’d all been so stunned with what had just happened, and so preoccupied with their new, mysterious, flying guest, that not a single one them had bothered to further look into Deathstroke, for the time being.

Some professionals they were, he bitterly thinks. The Titans. World’s _second_ greatest defenders.

He might have laughed, but he really wasn’t in the mood to get his ass kicked by the freaking Batman.

“Do you realize,” the man drawls, eyes just for Dick, “ _truly_ realize… what would have happened if it wasn’t for whoever that man was? If he wasn’t coincidentally passing by?”

Dick swallows again. Hank feels a wild satisfaction, imagining how dry his throat must be right now. “If you just let me explain…”

“Why,” Wayne cuts his former Robin off, raising his voice, “haven’t I heard a single word about this?”

Donna steps up. Whether she does this to defend Dick or soothe her own guilt, Hank can’t tell.

“I was aware that you were on League business alongside Diana. I informed Dick. This is why we didn’t immediately contact you.”

“And you took it that leaving a message, or taking ten seconds for a phone call, to either me or Alfred, was out of the question,” he snorts.

Donna hesitates. “Deathstroke kidnapped Jason, because he wanted us, the old Titans. Us, and his daughter. We figured we should…”

She pauses, once a burning stare pierces through her. “Kidnapped?” Batman growls. “This wasn’t just an incident? You’re telling me that Deathstroke… had taken my son?”

Hank can’t hold himself back from giving Donna a sideways glance, only to confirm his suspicion that she’s now lost her brief, courageous spark, and has retreated, being the perfect picture of someone that, in their try to help, have actually caused more hell breaking loose.

She’s lucky, though, since Wayne’s wrath (deservingly so) focuses on a different target. “Where were _you_ when this took place?” he turns to Dick once more. “How did you allow for this to happen?”

Gar takes a tiny step forward. Apparently, the kid has balls of steel, since Hank recognizes that it takes a whole lot of bravery for anyone to do so, at this point.

“Sir, it… wasn’t Dick’s fault,” he manages to say, in a slightly shaky voice. “Jason and I, we… got a little… carried away… I guess. We went out, following a criminal, Doctor Light, on our own initiative. We… we didn’t know he was working with Deathstroke. Jason wanted… I should have stopped him when he suggested it, but…”

His voice breaks, and Wayne takes a short breath, evidently believing the boy. Apparently, he knows his son, and this does sound to him like something Jason would do. “Don’t blame yourself,” he says to Gar. “It wasn’t your fault, son.”

Gar’s face signs with relief, and this is why this guy there is the freaking Batman, and would always stand above them all. Having taken a single look at the boy, he’d already figured exactly how he felt, and with a single sentence, he took the burden off his shoulders. Hank would bet that it hadn’t even cross anyone’s mind (it certainly hadn’t crossed his own, at least), just how guilty Gar must have been feeling about all of this, even though his part was minor.

“Not that Jason is to blame, of course,” Gar hurries to add, just to be fair, it seems. “I mean, hell… no one is. Or everyone is…? I… I don’t know. Jason was agitated over… I mean, we were all nervous, and Jason felt the need to prove himself, you know? After that stupid fight where Dick had to put him down, it was…”

Wayne spins around, eyes slightly wider, and for a moment, Hank thinks his own punch won’t be the only one Dick would receive today. “You hit him? _Hit_ him? I _trusted_ you with him..."

“No,” Dick vigorously shakes his head. “No, Bruce, no! It wasn’t like that, I… I had…”

Apparently, the Dick Grayson Defense Squad hasn’t said its last word. At this point, it’s Kori that rushes to his aid.

“If I may,” she politely starts, “I might not have been around at the time of the incident, but I arrived shortly after. I was present when the confrontation with Deathstroke took place. Dick… he walked in there alone, unarmed, without telling any of us. He made this deal with Deathstroke, in order to secure Jason’s safety. I followed him, without him knowing about it, since I suspected he had something dangerous in mind. He intended to sacrifice himself. Exchange his life, for Jason’s.”

Wayne looks her up and down, perhaps contemplating on whether or not he should trust her word. Kori doesn’t back off or flinch one bit, like most people would have, further proving her undoubtful badassness.

The man slowly shifts his gaze to Dick. “So. Summing up,” he says stiffly. “You humiliated Jason -in front of other people. You led him to believe that he has to prove himself to you, resulting to him getting kidnapped. You cut a deal with Deathstroke and trusted his word. You believed he’d let either of you walk out of there alive. You _willingly_ walked into a death trap, with no gear… no technical support… no backup plan… and no allies. And neither you nor Jason would be alive right now, if the lady hadn’t read right through you and followed you, without you even noticing.”

Hank awkwardly lifts a hand to rub at the back of his neck and instinctively turns to Dawn, realizing she’s looking back at him, her expression not much different than his own.

This is the definition of the phrase _‘Anything you say can and will be used against you.’_

“What were you thinking?” Wayne hisses, infuriated.

Hank only sees the back of Dick’s head now, so he can only imagine how his face must be looking. “That I wanted Jason to live,” he hoarsely rasps.

He sounds absolutely miserable, and truly honest, and… for the first time this evening, Hank feels a tiny bit of sympathy for him.

Wayne opens his mouth to say something, and looks very decisive, but he holds back at the last second. He inhales deeply, instead, his hand clenching into a fist. He moves to pass by him, noticeably ramming him with his shoulder in the process, and starts heading further into the headquarters.

“Where are you going?” Dick stammers.

If stares could burn, Dick would have been roasted at this point. “You think I’m letting Jason stay with you for another moment? I’m taking him home.”

Dawn breathes in. “Jason is… he took off. About half an hour ago.”

Wayne looks at her as if she’s just told him that Jason is in Deathstroke’s hands once more. “Going _where?”_

Heavy silence falls, and this time, not one person seems willing to break it.

Rachel takes this upon herself, at some point, when the tension’s become far too unbearable for everyone. “It’s been… Strange things have been happening, and… There has been… Deathstroke somehow has access here. He did things… trying to mess with our heads… We just now found out, Dick told us, but before that, we…”

Her voice dies out for a moment, and, ludicrous and selfish as it is, Hank hopes that this fifteen-year-old girl goes on, because him and Rose are the only ones that haven’t spoken a word, and since Rose obviously doesn’t intend to do so… eventually, he should probably be the one.

“We blamed him. We all blamed him, all of us, for everything that’s happening. We thought…” She stops, hugging her form with her own hands. Looking like she’s about to burst into tears. “I’m so sorry.”

The sheer honesty of her words hits him right in the chest, and the guild that overflows through him manages to make his lips move almost against his will. “We fucked up, alright?” he admits. “We didn’t have a process, or… We thought the best way to approach this…”

“… would be a group mainly consisted of full-grown adults ganging up on a highly traumatized, currently vulnerable, sixteen-year-old kid, even without any solid proof of his guilt,” Wayne dryly remarks. “I see.”

Hank wishes he could prove him wrong. Wishes he could swear at the man. Wishes he had the right to do that.

Wayne looks down at the floor, face empty of any emotion. For quite a few seconds. As if he’s trying to somehow digest all of this into his head, before directing to Donna by merely stating, “I always thought Diana raised you to be far more compassionate than that."

Donna’s face turns ghostly white. Pained, as if she’d actually been struck down. Wayne ignores that, and it’s a surprise when, out of all people, Kori is the other person he eventually turns to.

“Do you care about those kids?” he asks her.

Kori looks at Rachel first, then Gar. And even Rose. “With all my heart,” she responds.

Hank believes she also has in mind the fucking Kryptonian clone and the dog currently located in the infirmary when she says that. He almost feels grateful that everybody had the sense not to mention anything about that just yet.

“Would you be willing to stay and care for them, at least for a time?”

She nods, without a glimpse of hesitation.

“I can help with that,” Donna quietly says.

Wayne looks back at her. “The security breach needs to be dealt with. I will provide you with guidelines, if you need any. Especially the girl,” he looks at Rose, who almost jumps up, for the first time, “needs to be protected from her father. Do you feel confident you can make it?”

Another calm nod. “Don’t trouble yourself. I can make it. Just…” She audibly swallows. “Just find Jason.”

Wayne blinks, exhales, and without another word, he swiftly moves back towards the elevator.

Hank crosses arms over his chest, only barely holding back from scoffing. Sure. A thought for everyone, except Dawn and himself. Wayne had never liked them, for whatever reason, and apparently, this wasn’t about to change any time soon.

Dick walks behind the man, trying to catch up. “Bruce, wait, please…”

The doors open, and Wayne steps inside. He stands, back utterly straight, hands crossed in front of him. Blasting Dick with the most resentful stare.

“I don’t ever want to see you near Jason again.”

The doors simply close, and just like that, he’s gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! :) Moving on! Hope you enjoy!!

“Dick?”

He flinches a little at the otherworldly melody that is Kori’s voice (to him, anyway), but doesn’t turn to face her. He keeps throwing random pieces of clothing and gear in the bag he has lying open at the carpet of his room.

A soft click serves as a warning that she’s closed the door behind her. Light steps signal her approach. And since he still refuses to acknowledge her presence, she reaches out and gently circles his wrist as soon as his hand stretches out, after having dumped another shirt in the bag.

The gesture leaves him no other choice but to pick up his eyes and meet her gaze. Roam right into those dark, bright, starry eyes.

“Where are you going?” she asks. A bit surprised, it seems.

“Nobody wants me here,” he murmurs, turning to grab a pair of pants and add it on the messy pile.

Kori’s face spasms, as if she’s holding back from blurting out something. After a few more seconds of silence, all she offers is a simple, “And you think that running away from the problem will be the best solution?”

Dick briefly shuts his eyes and inhales. “What would you have me do?”

“Stay! Yes, they’re angry with you -deservingly so- but… admitting the truth was the bravest thing to do, especially under those circumstances. And it’s definitely not the right time to stop being brave now. You need to face the mistakes you’ve made. Look the truth in the face.”

Dick swallows, contemplating on it for a few moments before he ends up shaking his head. “Nothing happens until Jason’s found.”

Her expression softens. “You’re off to find him, then?”

“He’s just a kid, Kori. And he’s not thinking straight right now, with how what’s happened has affected him, with how we’ve all treated him…”

Dick stops, and presses his eyelids close, drawing a deep breath inside.

“I was supposed to be responsible for him,” he hoarsely drops. “Bruce… he trusted me with him. And look where I got him.”

Kori sighs. “I understand how you feel, but… are you sure that you can actually help him right now? That it isn’t better to just… leave this to the big guy?”

He’d lie to himself if he claimed he didn’t believe she was absolutely right. “When we find him, Bruce can take over,” he reluctantly offers. “But until then, I can’t just sit here. Not while he’s out there, alone.”

Kori just blinks. “Okay then. Understood. Although, given how _aggravated_ your dad seemed to be, I’m not sure he would approve of you interfering.”

“He’s not my _dad,”_ Dick sharply states.

Kori chuckles. “Yeah. Right,” she mildly scoffs, crossing hands over her chest. “From where exactly are you planning to start looking?”

“Gotham.”

She lifts an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“Jason’s going back to Gotham. It’s a place he knows only too well. Familiar. Not by air, clearly, since I take it that he doesn’t want to be found. I’ll get there first and wait for him.”

Kori doesn’t look much convinced, but she nods anyway. She takes one step, further closing the distance between them, and, as cheesy as it sounds, Dick’s heart actually _does_ beat a little louder when her hands come up, to frame at his neck. She holds her forehead against his, her eyes closed, and Dick feels his own eyelids dropping as well, his breath coming out slower, yet heavier. Sweet warmth surrounding him at the soft caress of her skin against his.

Leaving’s just become so, so much harder.

“You be careful,” is all she says in a small, caring whisper. “And if you need anything, call me. Immediately.”

* * *

Jason’s phone, of course, isn’t working. His tracker is dead -no signal. Whether it’s Jason’s own work, or Deathstroke’s, when he had him, he cannot tell. The latter option, however, fuels a wild, primitive anger in him, so he chooses to bury that though away.

For the time being.

Knowing how Jason thinks and reacts, Bruce assumes that the boy must have left the city already, desperate to get away from everything. Meaning that his best chance to get to him as soon as possible would be to have every train or bus station within an hour away from the city standing by.

“Yes. I will be scanning the cameras myself. Sixteen years old, 5’10, slender of frame, dark hair, blue eyes, no tattoos, no scars. He knows how to disguise himself, but I want every single bus or train station to have his description anyway, just in case. I’m also sending you a recent photo. And Lucius, remember; no press, no TV, no reporters. Keep the media away. Thank you, Lucius. We’ll be in touch.”

Bruce hangs up, letting out a heavy exhale. He taps his fingers on the steering wheel before bringing them up and pressing them against his temple. As if this can somehow stop the violent onslaught of the headache that’s started to form in his head. Or the stream of dreadful thoughts, threatening to drown him. Or, perhaps, the fury he’s been trying to contain from bursting out for the past few hours.

He lingers in the thought that he needs to cast all of those things, all those feelings aside, because he is who he is, and most importantly because, right at this moment, finding Jason is his main -if not his only- concern. And yet… his mind can’t stop boiling over his own self-guilt.

Looking back now, he should have never trusted Dick with Jason. Even though he never doubted that Dick’s intentions were nothing sort of kind… this wasn’t necessarily a proof that he was able to handle a kid as evidently challenging and difficult as Jason. Even _he_ himself had trouble with that, at first. He knew, firsthand, that gaining Jason’s trust and respect was anything _but_ an easy task (even though the effort was definitely worth it, eventually). He was aware, though, of how Jason admired Dick as the first Robin. Of how he craved to get a chance to meet him up close. He thought that… a prolonged interaction with Dick, someone so sociable and obviously likeable, might benefit Jason. Help him develop his social skills. Get him used to working with a team. And now, now that his own relationship with Dick seemed to soften once again, turning into something warmer once more (and he would never claim he wasn’t utterly happy about that), seemed like the best time to proceed into such a step.

Apparently, he was wrong. He had _trusted_ Dick with the boy, only to be faced right now with the results of his former Robin’s apparent incapability and immaturity.

Maybe, just maybe… he… might have been harsher than needed once he confronted him. He knew that Dick meant well, after all, and he was certain he did actually care about Jason. And yet, the sheer thought that _Deathstroke_ had his kid… that he’d harmed him… almost killed him… almost killed _both_ of them…

He inhales. Exhales.

All that matters now, is finding Jason. Find him first, and then they’ll fix everything, together. _Everything._ He’ll make sure of that. Just as he’ll make sure he’s not letting him off his eyes ever again.

* * *

Hank huffs and moves once again in the darkness, rubbing heavily over the sheets as he changes sides, getting to the slightly cooler part of the pillow. For yet another time.

There’s a sharp, noisy exhale from behind him. _“Hank.”_

He slightly turns over his shoulder. “You’re awake?”

“Are you kidding me?” Dawn drawls “You haven’t stopped moving around for even five minutes.”

Hank shifts and sits up on the mattress. “Sorry, babe,” he murmurs and leans over to press a kiss at her shoulder, before he pushes the covers off of him. “I’ll go get some water.”

Dawn sighs, and he feels her gentle grip circling his wrist. She sits up as well, her hand moving to click on the switch of the bedside lamp. She wrinkles her eyes at the sudden burst of light in the room as she backs up against the headboard.

“Say it,” she softly urges him.

Hank takes a breath and leans his back as well, mimicking her. “We’re leaving tomorrow.”

“If we’re not looking to spend more money on Airbnbs and hotel rooms, yeah, we are. What are we still doing here after all? Isn’t it time to get back home and just… take up on our lives from where we left them?”

Hank crosses arms over his chest, eyebrows furrowed. There’s a brief silence before he breaks and blatantly asks, “Where the hell _is_ he?”

Dawn can’t seem to hold back a subtle little smile.

“It’s not funny,” he growls.

“Of course it isn’t. But I won’t pretend it’s not utterly heartwarming that you worry so much.”

Hank snorts, annoyed, but chooses to let this one pass. “Can you tell me how come Bruce fucking Wayne -freaking _Batman_ \- hasn’t found him yet? It’s been a day already, I mean… _where the hell is he?_ He’s a sixteen-year-old kid! Where on earth would he go? Does he have any… I don’t know, relatives or something?”

“I don’t think so. I briefly talked to Donna today?” she thoughtfully offers. “Koriand’r told her that Dick’s looking for him in Gotham.”

“In Gotham?” Hank exclaims. “What the… Is he a total idiot? Did the Deathstroke incident fry his last remaining brain cells?”

“Why are you saying that?” she asks, a bit startled.

“The kid’s not going back to freaking Gotham! He’s overwhelmed, feels nobody understands him and all that shit. He wouldn’t go back to a place that both his dad _and_ Dick know like the back of their hands! Had he been there, he would have already been found!”

Dawn nods. “That makes sense, but if he really isn’t there, then… where?”

They both stay quiet for a few moments, before Hank states, “He’s still here, in the city. He’s gotta be. He knows how both Wayne and Dick operate, how they’re thinking… he’s not going to do what they expect him to, he’ll do the opposite thing… considering he’s able to think straight, that is.”

“Alright, then. Let’s assume he’s here. Where exactly, Hank? A million people in this city. He could be anywhere, really.”

“Not anywhere,” he murmurs. “He used to live in the streets, right? A kid like that, alone in a moment of despair, would turn back to what he knows best… no matter how bad it used to be. Every big city has its slums and mean streets. They’re never hard to find.”

Dawn tenses. “Tenderloin?”

He sits up, suddenly feeling a rush running through him. “Or SoMA, but… Tenderloin is my best guess, yeah.”

Dawn takes a deep breath and nods, before she pulls the covers off of herself and gets of the bed. “Let’s go, then.”

Hank all but jumps up. “Are you serious?” he hopefully asks, hands already fumbling around, looking for his blouse. “I might be wrong.”

“If you’re wrong, you’re wrong. But if you’re right, maybe we’ll be able to actually help Jason. And shake off our guilt enough to sleep again.”

* * *

Jason gazes at the two homeless men across the street. They’ve settled in a gap between two buildings and have probably fallen asleep by now, each of them wrapped in a bundle of blankets, completely covered, to the point that he can’t see their heads or feet. Close by, on his left, just twenty feet away from him, there’s a woman too. At least he thinks she’s a woman. This one was already there and asleep before he’d arrived and found himself this relatively enclosed corner beside the post office’s mailbox and the wall of the building, where at least the wind can’t get him.

They’re all so much warmer than he is. Prepared.

It’s just so… cold tonight. Even more so than the previous night, he thinks. And he’s not used to it. Not anymore.

He hugs his own arms around his torso, pulling his jacket around him as tightly as he can. Still, it does nothing to reduce the shivering. Jason wishes he was as provident as to bring a sleeping bag with him (or a warmer jacket, at the very least). Given his mood at the time of his flee, however, it was a miracle he even had the sense to shove a couple of energy bars and a second set of clothes -including the hoodie he was currently in- into his backpack. He puts the hood on, bringing up the collar as high as possible. He curls to himself, crossing his arms and settling his frozen hands under his armpits in an attempt to feel even the slightest bit of warmth.

He knows he’s getting ill. More accurately, he knows he’s _already_ ill. He’s aching all over, tremors continuously vibrating through him.

The first thing in his mind soon after the emotional stress of his outburst had eased down a bit (albeit his mind still felt cloudy at the time of the brainstorming) was to find a way to get back to Gotham. Sure, it might have been the obvious thing to do, but still, back there, he knew about one or two secret, relatively safe spots where he would have been able to crush (and he was confident enough that he wouldn’t be located by Bruce). Even had an idea in which neighborhoods he was most likely to find an old blanket, or another cover or some kind left aside, for the homeless. He even knew a drugstore where the owner had once taken pity on him, seeing him sitting out in the cold, coughing his throat out, and had provided him with basic medicine.

Here, he knows nothing. No one.

Airport was out of the question, so his only option was a torturously long, tiresome trip by train or bus. Only problem was… he had no money for any of that. Not a single penny, actually. In his delirium, he’d dumped all his cash and credit cards back in the tower, not wanting anything provided to him by people who only considered him a liability. After all, using one of Bruce’s credit cards would result to him getting found immediately.

Not that he’s certain anyone’s looking for him, anyway. As a matter of fact, he highly doubts that. They’re most probably relieved now that he’s off their feet. Far as he can tell, none of them ever really liked him anyway (with the exception of Gar, maybe). As for Bruce… apparently, his legal guardian didn’t even have two minutes to spare for a typical phone call, to see how Jason’s doing after being kidnapped, tortured, and nearly _murdered._

He doesn’t feel ready to admit to anyone -not even to himself- that this is what hurts most; the realization that Bruce, just like everyone else in his life, eventually grew bored and just… stopped caring.

Last thing Jason wants, last thing he ever wanted, is to be seen by others as an overly sensitive crybaby. He’d loathe that, so he never said a single word about it, pretending he hadn’t noticed. Pretending he didn’t miss him. Didn’t miss the precious hours he used to spend working with him as Robin, when he’d never felt happier or more alive in his life. He didn’t miss his room back in the manor, or Alfred. Or even school.

Jason curls more to himself, getting ready to bury his face in his lap, when heavy footsteps drag their way in front of him.

“Evenin’, boy.”

Jason picks up his eyes.

The guy isn’t particularly tall -maybe just a little more than Jason is right now. Probably in his late forties or early fifties, ginger blond hair slowly receding, and a developing paunch, visible even through his brown winter jacket. There’s a pretentiously friendly smile curved upon his face. Jason couldn’t describe it as anything less than malevolent.

When the man takes another step towards him, Jason awkwardly climbs to his feet, holding his jacket around him tighter still.

“Sure is a cold night,” the guy remarks, noticing. “Out here alone?”

Jason blinks once and shrugs, but offers no verbal response. The narrow, faint blue eyes looking him up and down with nothing sort of hunger -a vulture’s eyes- send a different kind of shiver down his spine, completely unrelated to the weather, this time.

The man hums, rubbing at his jaw. “I can get you somewhere warm for the night. Might even have a blanket to spare in the car. I’ll let you have it. How about that?”

His exhaustion, combined with the heartwarming prospect of any cover wrapped around him at this very moment, overpowers the alarms that’s already started to ring at the back of his mind, and he stays right where he is, probably looking numb and lost, since he can’t seem to decide on whether or not he should take the invitation. He’s no idiot. The man oozes of nothing but creepy vibes, nicotine, and a tone of stale cologne. Jason knows exactly what he wants from him.

“You won’t even have to do anything much,” the guy insists, taking another step. “Just be a good boy, and leave everything to me, huh? What’d you say?”

Jason’s ready to take off, but the next words catch him completely off guard.

“Want money? That it?”

He freezes. His breath catches, and a spark lights up in the creep’s eyes. Sure, a creep, but a sharp one. Jason’s sudden interest doesn’t skip his attention.

“’Cause I’ll give you money, if that’s what you want,” he assures him, smirking as he slides one hand into his breast pocket, and then drags it out again, a tight bundle of bills.

Jason swallows, his throat completely dry, his feverish mind deprived of any rational thoughts.

“Five hundred, boy. For the entire night. Provided that you’re… cooperative."

Creep’s probably trying to trick him, and doesn’t intend to give him the money… _after._ If that’s true, however, well… Jason knows how to make him keep his word, training be blessed. Yet he still feels pressure gathering at the top of his head, his stomach heaving, and he hates himself more than he’s ever hated anyone for not having already started kicking this creep’s ass. A newfound kind of despair claiming him at the thought that… he probably won’t do this at all.

He needs the money. Unfortunately, he does. It’s the only way he can make it out of the city and back to Gotham -or anywhere else. It did cross his mind that he could just try and steal some rich guy’s or fancy lady’s wallet, but… he’s no thief. Not anymore. And even back then, he might have taken car tires and hubcaps to sell, but never money. Not even when he was starving in the streets for days, fed only by whatever he picked up from the trash, or, if he was really lucky, leftovers from some restaurant or deli, where a waiter or cook happened to have a decent heart and actually understood, either from their own experience or just out of conscience, how big of a crime wasting food was. And sure, rich people won’t miss the money they carry for one day of shopping or a night out partying, but still… he can’t do. Can’t bring himself to it.

Damn Bruce. Damn him for taking him in, and spoiling him, and making him _soft,_ and then just… abandoning him. Tasking Dick with the chore of taking him out of his hands.

So. This money will help, most certainly. He can get tickets to wherever. Buy some medicine, get well sooner. Even spare some for a blanket, a warmer jacket, and, God, _food._ One good, actual, cooked meal. If he’s a spartan about it, by the end, he may even still have enough cash for two, maybe three weeks of plain street food once a day; ramen, egg rolls, pretzels and mustard dogs (his favourite chili dogs are always more expensive).

Yes. The money will help.

The cost on him, though…

Jason had seen it happening to others. Kids from his neighborhood, or later, the streets. Mostly girls, of course, but also a few boys as well. He’d seen them getting involved into _this_ kind of business. Some of them vanished after a while. Went to ‘better’ areas -or so he hoped. Some of them only vanished for short periods of time, coming back now and then, until they were gone completely. Those were the ones that sometimes returned with better clothes, more color to their cheeks, better fed, and with full hands. Like Stacy, who was seventeen at the time, a couple of years older than Jason. After an entire month of absence, she came back in Christmas, bringing with her huge bags of food and sweets from various stores, for all of them. She’d sat with them, talked with them, laughed with them, even. And yet, Jason was able to detect something in her eyes. A grey, cloudy veil that wasn’t there before. So many dreadful, painful things seemed to reside in there. Screaming in despair to get out. Get away.

He’d seen this very same veil in all the eyes of those he knew had taken the same road.

Maybe he deserved it. Maybe, after all, this was what was always waiting for him. Inevitably sealing his fate. His life. Maybe that’s all he’s good for. And maybe, just maybe, he shouldn’t have left from those streets at all, just to get a glimpse of how a beautiful, dreamy life could have been, only to, eventually, return to the mud where he belonged.

Maybe this past year was merely a dream, and now… now, he’s waking up.

“Okay,” he whispers, feeling something shattering in his chest.

The man’s smirk turns into a grin wider than the Joker’s -Jason swears. “Excellent. Just excellent. Now,” he drawls, reaching out one hand, “let me see you properly."

Jason shivers anew as the man pushes back his hood with a flick of his fingers. He tries not to move as it drops to the back of his neck. As the guy lets out a chuckle, and that same hand comes forward to cup his jaw.

“Fuck. You’re damn cute, you know that? Such a pretty boy,” he remarks softly, before the fingers grasping now his chin tighten, tilting his head up. “Let me see those blues you got there.”

Jason wets his dry lips and he picks up his gaze -his eyes were facing the floor all this time.

“So pretty,” the man purrs again. “And you’re blushing?” he adds, amused. “Are you a virgin, sweetheart?”

He audibly swallows, and his eyes dip to the floor once again, unable to meet this horrifying gaze anymore.

The man gasps quietly. “Wait. You _are?”_

Jason wants to snap and tell him that it’s none of his fucking business. Urge him to just get this over with. Yet the thought that this filthy, disgusting stranger will be the very first person touching him like that, so intimately... It makes him think he’s going to puke if he opens his mouth right now, so he restrains himself.

The guy, however, is thrilled by his silence, having gotten his answer merely by Jason’s body language, it seems.

“Good,” he breathes heavily now, voice hoarse in lust. “Good,” he repeats, his mouth literally watering.

Jason feels he might pass out.

The creep moves then, trapping him between his body and the wall, crowding him impossibly, to the point that he feels he’s suffocating. Apparently unable to keep his hands to himself anymore, he cups Jason’s face with his left, forcefully brushing his thumb over his lips, while trying to get the other under his jacket and thin shirt, to the muscles of his stomach.

“What a good, pretty little boy I’ve got. We’re going to have so much fun together, hmm? What’s the matter, baby, you’re scared? No-no-no, don’t worry, no need for that, don't shake like that, I’ll treat you well, I’ll…”

**_“HEY!”_ **

The guy jumps up, just like Jason, who frantically looks for the source of the deafening voice.

He’s shuddering as he spots Hank Hall approaching in the widest strides.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! :) This chapter is somewhat shorter than originally intended, but I haven't posted in a long time, and I wanted to give something out to hopefully keep you some company for a while during this difficult time.
> 
> I hope you and your loved ones are safe and well. Stay strong!
> 
> Enjoy! :)

He’s going to kill again. Tonight. Right now. He’s going to put that greasy, filthy-looking, repulsive pig down on the slimy pavement and break him. _Literally._ He’s going to deracinate his fucking grabby hands. He’ll beat him to a pulp, to the point that he no longer has a face. Until his bones are all cracked and trimmed, sank inside his perverted brain.

“You fucking piece of shit!” he hears himself roaring.

“No-no-no, no man, I’m—”

The guy’s started panicky stumbling back when Hank reaches out and grabs him by the collar, subsequently hurling him about three feet away, over a dumpster nearby, creating a huge dent in the metal.

As he approaches again, the pig, vainly trying to climb to his feet, dizzy and disoriented, stammers something about thinking that “the boy was eighteen,” and Hank feels like the whole world’s lost, and he’s only able to see one face. Not this creep’s face. A different one. One that has been gone from this world for ten years, at this point.

He grabs him by the neck. Punches three times. The creep's nose breaks, he hears it -and feels it. Gushes of thick blood and broken teeth are shooting out of his mouth, and Hank gives another three, until the guy stops moving completely, having passed out.

He’s still alive though. He’s still alive, and he doesn’t deserve it. Doesn’t deserve to ever get up and walk again. Doesn’t deserve the air he breathes, and… and—

Hank gasps, feeling something liquid flowing down his face. He wipes it, with the fingers of that hand that’s not aching from the force of the blows, and realizes that it’s blood. Obviously not his own.

Dawn. _Dawn._ Donny. The Titans. The difference they’d made. The man he’d chosen not to be anymore.

And Jason. Jason who is _right there,_ who’s—

He grits his teeth and lets go.

Everything feels… blurry, as he stumbles back on his feet. He has a sense of people watching. Probably some of the hobos nearby, having apparently woken up due to the commotion.

He’s still trying to catch his breath when it hits him like an electric jolt; the reminder of what he should be focusing on. Of what’s _really_ important here.

 _“Jason!_ Jason, wait!”

Jason’s almost reached the corner when he catches up with him and touches his arm to get him to turn around. Being extra careful not to use any actual force. It’s the lightest grip, merely a touch.

“Wait-wait-wait! Wait, dammit. Just… Just give me a second. Just a second, yeah?”

Jason looks… disturbingly young right now. Young and lost. Feels incredibly vulnerable, too. Hank’s never seen him like that before. Not even before he left the tower. The kid doesn’t resist at all when Hank gets him to turn around, despite how stiff his muscles have gone.

He gently grips at his upper arms. “Are you alright?” he gasps softly. “Did he—”

He needs to really try and cast aside the rage boiling anew inside his head at the thought of this creep’s hands on the kid. He struggles not to scream at him, ask him _why in the fucking hell_ he was just standing there, allowing for this to happen, even though he was so obviously disgusted, shaken to the core.

Jason blinks, swallowing once. “I w—want to leave,” he stammers.

His shoulders are slightly drawn inwards, like he’s afraid Hank’s going to snap and attack him, or shout at him. And good God, how he wants to do exactly that. How he wants to grab his shoulders and start shaking him until he snaps out of whatever this is. Scream at him that he’s taking him home, no fucking matter what, and that he’s locking him up in his fucking room until he comes to his good mind again.

“Okay,” he whispers instead, running hands up and down Jason’s arms. “Okay, just… just let me talk to you, huh? Just for a while, just… for a moment. And then we’ll do whatever you want.”

Jason answers nothing to that, but still, he stays in place, and Hank feels he needs to start before he’s completely lost him.

“Kid, fuck, I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry, alright? We were wrong, all of us. I shouldn’t have… none of us should have…”

He briefly closes his eyes and takes a deep, deep breath. Once he looks at Jason again, he’s lost his damn words. How could he possibly fit everything he had to tell in ‘just a while’? _Well done, Hawk, you fucking idiot._

“Listen, why don’t we, uh… how ‘bout we talk this through some place else, huh? Somewhere a bit warmer? There’s an all-night diner which is… good, I guess. We can grab something to eat, or…”

The brief spark appearing in Jason’s eyes at the prospect of eating doesn’t skip his attention. “Yeah!” he hurries to declare. “Yeah, we can go there. I mean, I’d definitely grab something…”

He pauses.

Since the moment he caught up with the kid, Hank’s eyes haven’t stopped scanning him, looking for any signs of injury. He was quickly relieved, spotting nothing of sorts, but… now that he’s calmer, able to focus more properly, he notices other things. Like the way Jason’s shivering, as if he’s getting chills. The slight red flush on his cheeks, despite the rest of his skin being ghostly white. The glimmer in his eyes.

Saying nothing, he pulls the kid closer and touches the back of his hand on his forehead. His _burning_ forehead.

“What the fuck!” he hisses, already taking his jacket off himself. _“What the fuck!”_

“I’m fine,” Jason murmurs.

Hank drapes the jacket around him, tightly, just as a car appears from around the corner, slowing down as it passes by them. The driver’s window rolls down and reveals Dawn, obviously worried sick by this point. Before she gets the chance to say anything, however, Hank’s already opened the back door, still facing the boy.

“Jason,” he says calmly. “Come on.”

Jason shakes his head, trying to hold his gaze up. “I’m not going back to…”

“We’re not going to the Tower. Dawn and I left the place. Things happened that you don’t know about, and we’ll explain everything to you, I promise.”

Jason looks at him askance, in complete disbelief.

He… can’t blame him.

“Jason, listen to me,” he breathes, lightly gripping at his shoulders. “I’m not trying to trick you. We’re not doing anything you don’t want, but I can’t just leave you out here alone, like this. I can’t and I won’t. Please, get inside.”

The ten seconds that pass before Jason starts to move feel like ten minutes. Hank huffs out in relief and follows Jason in the backseat of the car, shutting the door behind them.

Dawn’s already fully turned back, holding Jason’s hands in her own, asking him softly if he’s alright, telling him how worried they were. Jason’s nodding, answering once more that he’s ‘okay’.

“No, he’s not, he’s sick,” he declares stiffly. “We need to find a drugstore first.”

He feels both lucky and grateful that him and Dawn have reached that point where they’re able to communicate with a single look. Once their eyes meet, she immediately knows better than to ask for details at that specific moment.

The car starts moving. Jason’s sank in the seat beside him, curled up to himself, looking like he wishes he could simply disappear from the face of the earth. Hank doesn’t even want to start thinking about how he might be feeling, but he absolutely _does_ want to do everything in his power to make him feel at least somehow better. And himself, as well, if he has to be honest. But mostly Jason.

His mind wheezes, and he’s not certain whether the boy beside him is Jason or Donny when he reaches out his arm around his shoulders and pulls him closer, holding his head against his shoulder and making sure the jacket is still properly draped around him.

* * *

Hank more or less shoves him into the bathroom, having handed him two towels, a clean, casual set of his clothes and an order to spend no less than half an hour under hot water. He does exactly that, and it does indeed work. Once he’s clean, dry and in Hank’s oversized shirt and sweatpants, he’s already started feeling like a human being again.

When he gets back in the living room of the Airbnb apartment Hank and Dawn have apparently rented and takes a seat on the sofa, Hank hands him what he believes to be some kind of fever reducing pill and a glass of water, before he wraps a warm blanket around his shoulders. Soon enough, Dawn appears, carrying a cup of what he soon realizes is hot chicken noodle soup. He happily consumes it while sitting in silence, not even complaining about all the nice, caring (albeit a little awkward) treatment he receives. He’s still far too tired and disoriented to bother playing it tough right now. Not to mention his complete lack of energy.

At some point, right after he finishes his soup and his stomach’s slowly coming back to it’s rightful place within his insides, he has a sense of Dawn leaving the room and not returning afterwards, leaving him alone with Hank, and that is the dreadful point when he realizes it’s probably time to _talk._

He holds the blanket a little tighter around himself when he hears Hank clearing his throat. Braces himself, unable to look up at him for the time being.

“Feeling any better?”

Jason swallows, nodding. What’s happening inside him is one thing, and the fever’s definitely not reduced just yet (in fact, he’s feeling like it’s increasing at this point), but generally speaking, he’s warm, clean and fed. “Yeah. Yeah, much better.”

“Good. Good.”

The long pause that follows gives Jason the sense that Hank might actually feel far more awkward than he does.

“I didn’t put that in your room,” he says numbly, voice barely audible. “I swear, I wouldn’t…”

"Jesus, kid, I know. I know,” Hank interrupts. “Everyone knows. We were just… what we did was fucked up, and I’m sorry. I think it’s safe to say that everybody is.”

Jason isn’t sure how this makes him feel. It should have been reassuring, but still, it does nothing to make him want to come into contact with any of the others just yet.

Hank takes it upon himself and continues the conversation in the form of a monologue. He’s talking about Deathstroke, explaining to him how the mercenary somehow gained access in their own home and started playing mind games with them in order to drive them nuts or simply apart -an act that was obviously crowned with devastating success. He talks about Deathstroke’s son, too. Tells him a truth Dick never had the guts to admit to any of them (even though Jason can’t fully blame him for it, once he’s heard the entire story; it is one fucked up situation, with nothing good deriving from it at any point. Pretty much everyone, perhaps even Deathstroke, comes out as a victim of the circumstances).

Jason says nothing after he’s done, since he feels there’s nothing to be said, really. He’s going to need time to process all of this, and he certainly doesn’t feel like proceeding with it just yet.

“Your dad came by the Tower, you know. Right before we left.”

Jason’s heart skips a beat. This gains his full attention, and even though he tries to seem cool about it, he doesn’t think he’s managing very well. “Bruce is not my father,” he murmurs.

Hank gives him a sideways glance under a lifted eyebrow, and a crooked, ironic smirk. “Riiiight. Of course not. Be that as it may, I’ll tell you this, though; he was freaking his life out. Both pissed and worried beyond I’ve ever seen him before. Dick, classically being the ultimate mastermind that he is, apparently failed to provide him with an info of everything that’s been happening with Deathstroke. About you, mainly. He was on a mission with the League. That’s why it took him so long to find out.”

Jason blinks up at him, for the first time. He refuses to surrender in the sweet warmth of hoping that Bruce might actually be worried about him (that he actually _cares)_ only to end up vastly disappointed for yet another time. “He was angry, then,” he hesitantly assumes.

“Not with you,” Hank shakes his head. “I imagine he’s still looking for you like a madman right now, as we speak. But not because he’s angry.”

Jason gathers up courage to look at him in the eyes and ask, “Why did _you_ look for me?”

Hank observes him for a few moments before he opens his mouth. “Because you’re a freaking kid, Jason, and you mustn’t be alone, no matter what you think. Not yet. I know you think you know everything; we all did when we were your age, but truth is, we didn’t have a single goddamn idea of how the world around us actually worked. And yes, this goes for you as well, despite having seen and been through so much more than most kids your age. You might think your experiences make you invincible, and that’s the biggest fucking lie you’re ever going to tell yourself -and the most disastrous one. I don’t doubt that you could make it, I’m a hundred percent certain you can survive out there, but… there’s a vast difference between merely surviving and being able to actually take good care of yourself.”

Jason stares at him and, very slowly, almost unconsciously, a small, faint smile climbs up his lips. “You _do_ like me. Admit it.”

Hank huffs out, far too obviously trying to restrain his own spontaneous smirk. “Never gonna happen, kid.”

Jason lies back, pulling the blanket up to his chin. “You’re all right, Hank,” he says, because he needs to tell him that. Needs him to know that.

Hank’s smile gradually fades, before it's lost for good. “One last thing and I’ll let you rest.”

Jason was already dozing before his head even touched the pillow, so now, with every second that passes, it becomes increasingly difficult for him to keep his eyes open. He nods, though, waiting.

Hanks looks away, his face having turned emotionless. It’s the expression of someone struggling to say something that has to be said, even though it’s so, so very difficult.

“Never let anyone touch you, unless you absolutely want them to,” he voices, sternly and blankly. “A shitty moment might come again at some point when your mind might be telling you that it doesn’t really mean anything. That it’s… necessary. That you’ll soon forget about it and simply move on, but... no. You’re never going to forget. It’s not even certain you’re ever going to fully recover from it.”

Jason says nothing for as long as the pause lasts, even though he’s aware of the fact Hank’s now turned, looking straight at him, his gaze piercing.

“Don’t ever allow a moment of despair tear your soul apart.”

He’s managed not to think about it for the last ten minutes or so, and now everything’s abruptly back, all at once. His throat feels tight and blocked, and all he manages to croak is a hoarse and bitter ‘okay’, even though he’d much prefer it if he could just stay silent.

It seems like a subtle impulse when Hank reaches out his hand and cards fingers through his hair. It's a surprisingly affectionate gesture, desite lasting for only a few moments, before Hank gets on his feet.

“Get some sleep now,” he quietly indicates.

* * *

When he enters the bedroom, Dawn’s sitting cross legged on the bed, scrolling down on her phone.

“How did it go?” she immediately asks.

Hank huffs out, falling heavily over the mattress. “He’s asleep now. He’s… fine. Still exhausted, still shocked… but calmer. Better.”

He feels her shifting beside him, and soon her arms are hugging around his torso, her chin pressed on his shoulder. He turns a bit, and she captures his lips in a small kiss before nuzzling her face against his neck. “You know what we have to do,” she says softly.

Hank snorts, annoyed. “Maybe Jason doesn’t want to.”

Dawn’s smiling a bit. “I think he does. And in any case… this is the right thing to do. You know this.”

He almost hates how undeniably right she is.

“Who’s gonna call him? You or me?”

“You,” is his instantaneous answer, because talking to Bruce Wayne is the last thing he wants to do right now.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! :) Hope you're all doing okay!
> 
> Enjoy! :)

“Jase?”

Jason hums, taking a moment before he blinks his eyes open at the sound of his name and the huge hand lightly gripping at his shoulder.

“Come on, boy, wake up for a while,” Hank murmurs gently, fingers carding through Jason’s hair. “Let’s get your temperature.”

They do, and apparently, he’s better. Much better. Fever hasn’t completely disappeared, of course, but still, it has withdrawn significantly. Dawn says it’ll probably go up again at some point, but Jason doesn’t mind. Despite the heaviness still burdening his heart… everything’s a little better now. He’s clinging to his blanket, feeling warm and _safe,_ eating and drinking what he’s given by two people that he now trusts, which is a huge thing for him. Trusting people… never came easy. Not after everything’s he’s seen and experienced. Not after every single person in his life eventually, with one way or another, left him alone. Desperate and cold.

It was different with Bruce. It was easier to trust him, because… well… he was honest. _He_ was the one that trusted Jason first. Trusted him with his biggest secret. Actively included him in that secret, and in almost every other aspect of his life. Who wouldn’t trust freaking Batman? Who wouldn’t feel absolutely honored by the fact that the Dark Knight himself wanted them by his side? Flattered. Excited. Fully overcome with joy. With pure, genuine happiness.

Hank and Dawn… they’re a different case, but still, they’ve proved themselves by this point, resulting to both of them earning his trust as well. Despite not knowing them that well, Jason now feels incredibly comfortable around them. They’re just… they’re good people. Plain and simple. Jason can almost feel it in his bones. They’re purely sweet, and not in the idiotic, overly emotional kind of way. It just comes natural to them.

“We need to tell you something, because… because we ought to. It wouldn’t be fair to catch you by surprise.”

“What is it?” Jason asks softly.

Hank huffs, looking down at his hands that keep folding and unfolding over his lap. Obviously, not pleased that he has to do this. “We called Wayne while you slept. We expect that he’ll be here in an hour or so.”

Jason grits his teeth, void suddenly spreading in his chest. “Bruce is coming?” he asks under his breath.

Hank nods, wincing a bit. “Now, listen to me, kid. I know you’d prefer it if we’d given you a head’s up first, but… It’s just…”

After the pause obviously takes longer than it should have, Dawn decides to interfere. “Jason, we’re more than happy to have you. It isn’t trouble for us. But I think we all of us know that this -all of this- is something that needs to be resolved between you and your f— with Bruce,” she corrects herself at the last moment. “No matter what happens in the future between the two of you… he deserved to know that you’re safe now.”

She’s… not wrong.

Hank leans forward a little bit, in an almost conspiratory manner. “If you don’t want to go with him, just say the word and we’ll fix this.”

“Hank,” Dawn rolls her eyes.

“What?” he sharply protests. “Maybe he doesn’t want to! The guy can be a real ass, we know that much.”

Jason chooses not to comment on that, but he can’t but feel a bit irritated at this statement. Bruce isn’t an asshole. Deathstroke is an asshole. That pathetic, laughable fool by the name Dr. Light was an asshole. Bruce is just… he’s just… thorough. Maybe a bit cold at first, especially when people don’t do as he says, but once someone gets to know him better, things are different. He just acts like that because, well… he knows what he’s doing. What is right, and what isn’t. What will work, and what won’t. This is just who he is, and (much to Jason’s relief) he’s never proven wrong in anything… up until this point.

Truth is that… he can’t just stay with Hank and Dawn. They’ll want to leave this place at some point, and even if their finances allow them to support another person for a time… Jason can’t do that in good conscience.

And then there’s Bruce. Bruce, who’s getting there soon, and Jason has no idea how to handle this, what to say or do, or…

The doorbell rings.

Jason grits his teeth to prevent a gasp from crawling out of his throat as Hank exchanges a startled glance with Dawn. “Oh, what the hell,” he nervously groans. “Is he Batman, or the Flash?”

Dawn sighs, shrugging faintly and giving a light squeeze on Jason’s shoulder as she gets up and slowly makes her way to the door. In the meantime, Hank drags his big hand to gently rub at Jason’s scruff. “Don’t worry. I only told him you were on the streets. And kid, look… I know you’re not ready,” he murmurs, “but you don’t need to rush it. Take your time. You don’t need to do anything he says if you don’t want to, alright?”

Jason nods without looking at him, pushing the blanket off of himself, ignoring the numbness tickling up his every limb and spreading to his core.

He only has a second to draw a sharp breath inside before Dawn answers the door. “Hey,” he hears her saying before stepping by, making room for Bruce to step in.

Jason instinctively gets up and stands as straight as he currently can, once he’s on his field of vision.

Bruce’s face is… pale. Stiff. Unreadable expression. He’s wearing travel suit and a black trench coat, all only relatively taken care of, which is _huge_ for him. Other than that, he looks neat, and Jason feels ridiculous, awkward and absurdly small standing there, in Hank’s oversized clothes, messy hair flying to every direction and everything happening in his chest probably showing on his face.

“I’m sorry,” is all he manages to croak. He hadn’t thought about apologizing, but nevertheless, almost instinctively, it’s the first thing coming out of his mouth, voice quiet and uncertain.

Bruce makes an incomprehensible sound, something between a sigh, an exhale and a light growl. Then, before Jason even realizes it, he’s closed the space between them. Jason’s arm is clasped, but this grip, albeit firm, is as gentle as Hanks. He can feel it as he’s pulled in a warm embrace, his head tucked against Bruce’s solid chest, and it’s all it takes for him to melt.

He closes his eyes as he’s held there, in certainness and safety, and he’s only vaguely aware of Dawn dragging Hank away (and of their argumentative whispering about it before the door of the bedroom shuts behind them).

Part of the burden’s already left his shoulders once they’re parted. Even then, Bruce lightly grips at his upper arms, rubbing gently, as if he’s unable to let him go completely. “Come here,” he murmurs, guiding Jason back on the couch and sitting him down before shrugging in front of him and taking Jason’s face in his hands. “Come here, let me just… let me look at you.”

Jason believes his face’s just turned redder than Ivy’s hair. Heart’s pounding rapidly in his chest. He’s not used to be treated like that. Not even by Bruce, who is by far the most caring person he’s ever had in his life… in his own, weird way, of course.

Bruce takes half a breath. “You’re sick?” he softly asks, thumbs brushing against his cheeks.

“Nah, I… it’s just a cold,” Jason answers quietly. “It’s already better. Hank and Dawn helped. They’re cool. They’re cool people.”

Bruce sighs, taking one hand off to place fingers at his own temple. “Jason, I had _no idea_ what was going on. I was away. Once I heard what happened…”

“B,” he murmurs, “it’s okay. I know. Hank told me.”

Bruce looks him up and down, slowly, with narrowed eyes. As if he’s looking for something.

“Did he hurt you?”

His voice has Batman’s roughness, and that stiffness Jason’s witnessed very few times, only when Bruce is truly, absolutely furious. Jason tries not to shiver. To remain as stoic as possible, even as the still healing knife wound on his hip gives him a sharp pang. “No. I mean… you know. Like… nothing more than what we’re usually dealing with.”

Bruce’s eyes further narrow, as if he’s trying to decide whether Jason lies or not. Apparently, he decides to let this slide for the time being, but only to come back at him with another question. “Did… _Dick_ hurt you?”

“What? No,” is Jason’s instant, confused response at the question. “Why would he?”

Bruce’s jaw is obviously clenched. “Why did you go after Doctor Light?”

Jason lightly bites his bottom lip for a moment, realizing what this is about. “Oh. You mean…” he shakes his head roughly. “Look, it’s not exactly how it sounds. It was stupid, okay? It was a stupid moment. I just wanted to prove…”

“If you felt like you had to prove yourself, then that means Dick did something to make you feel like you should, and I just happen to know exactly what that ‘something’ was. And don’t bother denying it, he admitted it.”

Jason exhales. “Bruce, come on. You’ve hit me too while training…”

“So you were you training when this happened.”

Jason hesitates. “Okay, no, but…”

“There’s no excuse then, Jason.”

“It’s not like this. I…” Jason tuts, his eyes dropping on the floor. “You know how I can be sometimes.”

He feels Bruce’s fingers taking his chin, tilting his head up to meet his eyes again. “Yes, I do,” he says. “You can be enthusiastic, and passionate, and hardworking, and you can _listen,_ Jason, when you know you’re being included and properly provided with knowledge, plans, lessons or explanations,” he firmly states. “When the circumstances are appropriate, that is. And when you feel safe and comfortable enough in a certain environment.”

Jason feels he should give it another try. “Look. Okay, this might have been wrong, but… they weren’t that awful…”

“Then why did you leave the Tower?”

Jason tries to find something to further argue about it, but he gets nothing. It would be pointless, anyway. Bruce knows him. Knows everything about him. Jason’s certain that, at this point, he even knows things that even Jason himself doesn’t know or realize. He can’t hide from him. He knows that, if Jason had chosen to leave and be homeless again, even for a single day instead of staying in a perfectly fine place… this meant that he felt desperate and miserable in there.

“Jason, if you were happier in Gotham, why didn’t you just _say_ so? Any time we talked, you always seemed to be…”

“Because!” he raises his voice a bit, for the first time. “I… You wanted me to do this, and… I understand, it was important! I had to do this, because Dick did it when he was my age. Because, cooperation, teamwork and all that shit, yeah, and so…”

“Jason,” Bruce sternly cuts him off. “When I took you in, you think I was under the impression that you’re like Dick? That I expected from you to be a carbon copy of him? Each person is different. We all have our strengths and weaknesses, our strong attributes and our weaker spots. Things that work for us, and things that don’t. You think that I don’t get that? I thought that working within a team might benefit you, yes, but from that point on… I’d never want to subject you into anything that would make you that miserable! Jason, if you’re not happy, none of this matters to me, not even Robin. My first and main concern is your well-being!”

Jason winces, once more reverting his eyes away. “It’s not… I wasn’t, like… miserable. I just…” He shakes his head, words failing him. “It’s complicated.”

Bruce doesn’t speak a word, nor does he take his eyes from him. He just waits, patiently, until Jason gives up and says is:

“I just don’t fit in, Bruce. I don’t fit anywhere, man, okay? And… you know. It’s fine. I mean, it’s okay. I’ll try more, I’ll…”

He pauses, unable to continue. Having no idea what to say.

Bruce blinks. Once. “You fit in with me.”

Jason’s gaze shoots up once more, warmth suddenly filling him as Bruce runs a hand through his messy hair. “Do you think that getting used to working in a team was easy for _me_? Let alone, a team where half of my partners were superhumans, aliens, kings or demigods -if not real gods? Not to mention joyous, outgoing fellas. And I was thirty back then, not sixteen. I mean… those people wanted _small talk_ when we weren’t working, Jason.”

Like, Jesus Christ, can you _believe_ those guys? Jason can’t contain a small laugh. “The demigods were more normal than you, Bruce.”

Bruce frowns. _“Exactly.”_

The smile on his lips slightly trembles when Bruce cups the flanks of his neck, looking at him straight in the eye.

“There is nothing wrong with you, son. Do you understand me? _There is nothing wrong with you._ You are not broken, you are not rotten, you are not a lost cause. You are not. _You are not._ And I’m certainly not disappointed in you in any possible way.”

Jason doesn’t know how to respond. He stays silent, and Bruce gets off the floor to sit beside him on the couch now.

“We don’t always get along with everyone, Jason, but still, this is what people do in life. We’re _trying_ things. It doesn’t mean everything will always work out. And it doesn’t mean it’ll _never_ work out either. Perhaps it just wasn’t the right way, the right time or the right circumstances for you in particular. It doesn’t make you a bad person, or a failure. It means… It means that it just didn’t work this time. Next time, if there’s going to be any, will be better, and… both of us will be more careful in our moves. I, for one, promise you right now that I’ll never assume I know what’s best for you without taking your own opinion into consideration. And I am… very sorry I did that in the first place. I just…”

Bruce rolls his eyes and snorts at himself, it seems.

“I know I’m not perfect, but sometimes I need to do that. And sometimes, Jason, you have to trust that I do know what’s best for you, but this doesn’t mean you don’t get to speak your mind and stand up for your own wishes! Or that I’ll ever force you do anything that you don’t feel comfortable doing. If something isn’t working for you, don’t force yourself into it just because **_I_** thought it might be good! You need to let me know!”

Jason takes a small inhale. “It’s just that… I know that you know what is good, and… I trust you.”

Bruce wraps an arm around his shoulders and pulls him close, holding him sideways to his chest. “I know,” he says warmly, pressing lips against Jason’s hair. “I know, and I thank you… so much for this. But no relationship can properly work when one suppresses their own wishes, Jason.”

Jason nods, and they stay in silence for a while, which isn’t half bad, but Jason has to phrase the question in his mind.

“So… what happens now?”

Bruce looks at him like the answer should have been obvious to him. “You’re coming back home. Don’t you want to? I mean…”

Bruce pauses. Clears his throat a bit, eyebrows furrowing. He shrugs, just slightly. “I mean, Alfred. You know. He misses you too much.”

Jason smirks. “Oh. Alfred does.”

“Yes. _He_ does. Can’t concentrate well enough.”

Jason bites his tongue to prevent himself from bursting out into laughter. “On cleaning and cooking?”

“Yes, and managing the cave. That’s enough now.”

Jason stops holding back and laughs out loud, leaning closer to him. He isn’t certain whether the heat on his cheeks is a blush caused by his rising fever or his overwhelming joy. Bruce turns to him again, now faintly smiling himself. “So.”

“So?”

“Am I getting my partner back?”

He wants him. Bruce wants him. He smiles, he nods, and when he’s pulled into another embrace, Jason sinks into it wholeheartedly.

He’s going home.

* * *

Hank and Dawn walk them down to the car, and once they’re at the door, Bruce stands facing them, one hand clasping Jason’s shoulder. “I won’t forget this,” he says, before extending his right hand. “Thank you.”

Hank looks stiff, but he doesn’t hesitate on nodding and taking it in a firm, brief handshake. Another one with Dawn follows, much more relaxed, a smile on her face. Jason feels a light squeeze on his shoulder before Bruce turns and heads for the driver’s seat, discreetly leaving them to exchange their goodbyes.

Dawn moves first, stepping forward to hug him sweetly, one of her hands rubbing at his back. “Take care of yourself, yeah?”

“You too,” Jason says back.

Hank steps up then. A snorty exhale as he pulls him aside a bit and lowers his voice. “You have our numbers, kid. I’ll send you an address soon. Don’t wait for things to go completely downhill to crush in. It won’t be the Wayne palace, but we’ll be having plenty of space.”

Both of his hands are now on Jason’s shoulder, and he’s shaking him a bit. His gaze is surprisingly piercing. “And… don’t ever forget what we talked about. Okay?”

Jason smiles. “Will you admit that you like me?”

Hank snorts, ruffling his hair. “Get outta here, you little shit. Not a fucking chance.”

Then comes the hug.

Jason is almost shocked. It’s rather brief, rather stiff, and yet, strong and solid in all the right ways, and right after it, he’s pushed to the car door, utterly lightheaded.

He waves at them as they’re passing by, thinking that Bruce is, once again, freaking right; you can’t always get along with everyone.

Still, though; you’ll always get along with _someone._

* * *

“This little bastard,” he murmurs.

Dawn laughs, hugging him around his waist and placing her head on his shoulder as they’re stepping back into the building. “You know, you are just _the_ _cutest_ doing the dad thing.”

Hank slips his own arm around her shoulders, snorting out loudly. “Think that’s the dad thing? Wait until we get our own.”

“Really! You’re thinking about it?”

Hank lifts an eyebrow, looking at her like she’s incredulous for even assuming that he wasn’t. “Uuuum, yeah? Like. _Obviously.”_

Her smiles broadens as they start climbing up the stairs. “You really think we could do it? Have a baby?”

He gives her the exact same look. _“A_ baby? We’re going to have three!”

She lets out a startled exclamation, laughing at the same time. “Is that so!”

“Um, yeah? I mean, look, I want four, but you know, I understand that _you_ might get tired on the third one, we can also manage with just three.”

“Ohh. Thanks,” she titters. “And I assume you already know they’re going to be…”

“Two boys and one mini-Dawn. Because she needs to be fully protected. If we go for a fourth, then it’ll be another little Dawn.”

Once they’re out of the door, Hank stops her from unlocking it and pulls her close. Her arms climb up his shoulders and rest there, her body sweetly warm against his. “And if you don’t want to, that’s okay too,” he calmly tells her. “We’ll get us four cute bastard dogs from a shelter, we’ll have our horses, the neighbors’ kids to spoil. You’ll get the chance to see the dad thing, one way or another.”

She slightly tightens her grip on him, her eyes sparkling with warmth. “I like the dogs. But I want the little Dawns. And the little Hanks, too.”

This is… the first time they’ve talked about this. The first time they’ve said this to each other. It’s real. It’s _here._

Hank takes her face in his hands. “I love you more than anything,” he murmurs. “And if we have one, or two, or a hundred little ones… I swear to God, I won’t ever let anyone touch them. Or you.”

Her face and smile tell him that she knows. That she’ll do the same for him.

Their lips brush, and finally, after all this tension, all this worry and pain, he’s free to once again lose himself in her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (in the last chapter, we'll be giving Dick some kind of closure as well.)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyy, everyone!! Last chapter here! :)
> 
> I want to thank you all for reading and commenting! Honestly, I didn't expect such an amazing general response to this story! You're all the best, and I really hope you like the finale! I wanted to give Dick some kind of closure as well, but something more... positive than what the series did by throwing him into prison for one boring little subplot.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy! :)

Dick rubs his eyes, taking in the hugest breath he can manage. Runs fingers through his hair, pushing strands back, away from his face.

Come to think of it, he needs a haircut. And a proper meal. Some quality sleep wouldn’t hurt either. And definitely _-definitely-_ a shower. God. He hasn’t showered once in the past three days. He’s been basically living in this rented car he picked up once he set foot in Gotham’s airport. Sleeping here, with his spare emergency blanket and his own jacket as covers, always briefly, mostly just frustrating naps to keep him going, has arguably been the worst part. Food’s pretty close to that as well. It’s been basically whatever he picked up from any dirty Gotham fast food store that happened to be on his way -nothing even remotely substantial.

He’s been out there, constantly. Driving through the meanest streets. Talking to every last homeless person he could find; man, woman or child. To the nastiest, pettiest crime faces out there. He’s even been involved into some fights -nothing came out of any of those.

He feels he’ll soon start breaking down to pieces. And still; no sign of Jason.

He tries not to sink into desperation just yet (for the kid, not for himself), but he’s slowly losing the battle, his spirit failing him, and his mind going completely blank.

His phone starts to ring, which is… weird. Surprising, really. Not a single person’s given him a call since he left the tower. He doesn’t know how to feel once he sees Kori’s number on the screen. He answers anyway, the sound of her voice being a subtle comfort he suddenly craves for.

_“Dick? Hi.”_

“Hey, Kori. What’s up?”

_“I was… going to ask you the same thing.”_

He snorts a bit, and wets his dry lips, taking a glance out of the window. “Yeah, I’m… working on it.”

 _“Oh.”_ A pause. _“What do you mean?”_ she then asks.

Dick sighs. “Honestly, I… I don’t know what else to do, Kori. I’ve looked everywhere out here. Nobody’s seen him, or they’re just lying, but… I wouldn’t guess they’re _that_ good at it. I just… I’m trying to think, but…”

He stops, having no idea on what else to say. Kori’s voice comes a bit dry, after a few seconds. _“Haven’t you talked to Dawn, or… you know, Wayne?”_

Dick’s heart skips a beat at her tone. “Why? What happened?” he sharply demands.

Kori hesitates. _“Donna talked to Dawn yesterday… to be honest, it wasn’t really clarified, but I would have thought she would have…”_

“Kori! What happened?”

“ _Hank and Dawn found Jason two nights ago. Here, in San Francisco. Wayne came by to get him yesterday morning. They should be in Gotham by now… for more than a day, actually.”_

Dick’s world drops. Kori keeps talking, but he doesn’t really listen, forced to take in all aspects of this realization, all at once.

Jason has been found. It’s been… more than forty-eight hours since that happened. And nobody… not a single soul ever bothered to give him a call. Either they thought he doesn’t deserve to know, or that he didn’t care in the first place.

Both options hurt to a point that it’s turning almost physical. And the only way to keep himself standing right now instead of succumbing to the pain, is to drown it in a fire of fury.

_“… I’m sure that there must be an explanation, if you just call…”_

Dick hangs up and violently throws his phone in the back seat, starting the engine and speeding off immediately, heading for the ring road, fully certain that he must be registering into every radar out there -and completely uncaring to it at this point.

* * *

He’s never arrived faster at h— at the Manor. Never knocked on the door with such force. And when it opens, he barely acknowledges Alfred at all.

“Master Richard—!”

“Where is he?” is the only thing he can phrase in his haze of anger, crossing the doorstep. “Where is he, I—”

No need to go on. He’s right there.

Bruce is standing behind Alfred, looking just as surprised to see him as the butler. He’s dressed in one of his fine suits, apparently leaving to attend one of those fancy galas, or some other formal occasion.

“What the hell is the matter with you?” Dick yells at him, letting the outburst flow through him, with all the poison burning him rather obvious. He’s basically trembling with rage. “I’ve been out there for almost three days, looking for him and worrying sick, and you couldn’t just—”

“Lower your voice,” Bruce growls at him, eyes narrowed and stance tensed, as if he’s ready to dive into a fight.

Dick never wanted to punch him as much as he craves to do at this very moment. Instead, he overcomes the urge, his bottom lip trembling as he shakes his head at how outrageous this whole thing is and turns to head for the stairs.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

He spins to face him. “You’re _wondering?_ To see him!”

Bruce takes two steps forward. Climbing the first two steps of the staircase. “Not,” he slowly starts, eyes throwing daggers at him, “happening.”

Dick feels like a bucket of ice has just been spilled down his back. “Excuse me?!”

“You heard me. I told you before, and I’m telling you again; you’re not seeing him.”

Dick feels movement at his left. “Master Bruce—” Alfred starts, taking a step forward.

“Jason is going to decide that, not you!” Dick shouts, unable to keep himself from it. “You’re not—”

“Do you have any idea what do you look like right now?”

Dick swallows harshly, all his nerves impossibly stretched. He might as well break down any moment now.

Bruce turns his head slightly to Alfred, even though his eyes never revert from Dick’s. “Alfred, give us a moment, please.”

“Sir, if I may—”

“You may. But later. Please.”

The older man sighs, just slightly, as much as his perfect manners will allow. He then straightens his back, gives Dick a supportive glance that means the world to him, and retires, heading for the kitchen.

Once Bruce is certain he’s out of hearing range, he inhales again. “Jason is upstairs, in his bedroom. Recovering.”

Dick shivers at that, all his nerve suddenly crumbling down. “W—what happened?”

Bruce studies him for a while before crossing arms over his chest. “Thankfully, nothing permanent. It’s a cold. A heavy one… but still. It will take a few more days.” He pauses. Winces. “I wish I could say the same about what’s on the inside.”

Dick tries to ignore the ache the last comment causes him. “Well, thanks for filling me in,” he scoffs, sarcastically.

“I didn’t know you were out looking for him. I would have let you know otherwise.”

Dick moves his head incredulously. “Did you really think I’d just let it go? That I didn’t care?” he asks, hating how pleading and hoarse his voice comes out.

Bruce’s jaw is visibly clenched. “I wasn’t sure.”

The statement, the doubt it includes, goes right into his soul, completely crushing him. “I… I know I made a mistake,” he falters. “I just… I…”

“A mistake?” Bruce exhales, rubbing at his temple, eyes momentarily shut. “Dick, Jason would be dead right now. _Dead.”_

“Please, just please, Bruce—”

“Do you even understand that?” he demands sharply. “That I would have _lost_ him?”

It’s probably one of the most emotional statements he’s ever heard from Bruce (and he can’t but feel a little jealous). “Jason is in danger every night he’s out there as Robin. Just as I was.”

Bruce’s face instantly shoots up again. He looks deeply offended. “I _always_ had eyes on you.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Always, Dick. Just as I always have eyes on him.” He snorts, bitterly. “When he’s with me, that is. As he will be from now on.”

“Bruce…”

“Even if I completely ignored the Deathstroke incident,” Bruce goes on, “there’s more. Jason has been through things you can’t even imagine. His psyche is fragile, especially when it comes to—”

“I was wrong. Bruce, please. I know I made a mistake, but I promise, I swear to you, I… I hadn’t realized how badly it would affect—”

“He was under your care for five months. You should have known by now.”

Dick wishes he has even the smallest weapon to defend himself.

“I won’t deny my own fault on this. I misjudged both you and Jason. Neither of you were ready for this. That’s on me. But everything else—”

“Bruce—”

“I don’t doubt your good intentions,” Bruce assures him, “but as harsh as it sounds… I criminally overestimated your abilities. Both as a mentor and a leader.”

Dick shuts his eyes. Struggling to breathe. Or simply keep standing.

“Shutting you out doesn’t make me happy, but it’s something I have to do. It’s not meant as punishment to you., but keep in mind that you’re the adult here, Dick. Jason’s still a child. In an extremely dangerous age, I might add. I’ll do _anything_ to protect him. This includes being present myself while also giving him space to recover and think things through, unbiased. And the same goes for you. Until this happens, I don’t think you should be seeing him.”

Dick’s eyes have dropped on the lavishly carpeted floor. He doesn’t see Bruce approaching, but he feels it. Just as he feels his fingers taking his chin and lightly tilting his head up until they’re looking at each other once more.

“I wish I could help you too, son,” Bruce says, voice having slightly softened, “but things have escalated to a point where only _you_ can help yourself.”

Bruce lets go. He slowly looks him up and down, and Dick hates it. Hates _him._ He wants to punch him. Or hug him. Either. Both.

“Don’t come back until you’ve collected yourself,” Bruce returns to his usual, strict tone. “And until then… stay away from Jason."

* * *

Dick doesn’t leave. Not at once.

He drives off the Manor’s property. Then hides. Waits for Bruce to depart before sneaking back in, on foot.

It doesn’t take him too long to locate Jason’s window. From what Jason’s told him, his bedroom is one of the ones in the east wing. Nice rooms. Benefiting from the early morning solar gain. Natural cooling during summer and afternoon. Great for summer-time sleeping, and pleasantly warm even in the winter months. Dick’s own bedroom was right next to Bruce’s, facing the north. He imagines that Bruce felt better having him close, taking into consideration how young he was when he first took him in. Jason’s wasn’t in such need, being older than him when taken in, so it looks like Bruce was prioritizing the kid’s comfort. Plus, the rooms of the east wing, albeit spacious, are generally smaller in size, probably slightly closer to what Jason had been accustomed to.

Bruce has gotten better at it, he can tell. At the whole… parenting thing. Better than he was with Dick. He supposes that, more or less, most parents are like that; making more mistakes in the first child, then knowing more about how to treat the second. Having learned from their mistakes. He’s glad for Jason, but he can’t deny that perhaps… perhaps it kind of… hurts a little bit.

Climbing up is a bit trickier without a suit, but he still manages quite well.

The curtains are open. Room’s lit only by the bedside lamp. Jason’s inside, lying on his bed under the duvet. He’s reading form some book, looking thoroughly invested into it, as docile and calm as Dick’s never witnessed him before.

Bruce is… probably right. He knows it isn’t the best thing for Jason to see him like this, but… he can’t. He can’t just leave like that, without seeing him first, without letting him know that he did his very best for him… even if even _that_ was tragically inadequate.

He taps at the glass, five sharp beats. Jason looks up, thoughtfully at first, before his eyes widen and his mouth drops open. In an instant, he’s left his book aside and thrown the duvet off of himself, mouthing something that suspiciously looks like **_“what the fuck!”_** before hurrying to the window and opening it.

“Man, **_what the fuck!”_** he gasps. “We still have the doors, you know.”

Dick only barely holds back a smile. “Hey there, little wing.”

Jason frowns. “Little _what?”_

Dick lets out a small laugh. He’s got no idea how this nickname came to his lips, but he thinks it fits Jason quite a lot for some reason. He just shrugs, reaching out his hands to gently run them up and down Jason’s arms. “How are you feeling? Bruce told me you’re ill?”

“I… I’m getting better. Alfred doesn’t think it’ll take longer than a couple of more days, and…”

Jason shrugs and stops talking. He’s been clearly surprised by his entrance so far, but right now, things are slowly clearing on his face.

“Jesus,” he murmurs. “You look… you look like shit.”

Dick swallows. “I… yeah. Yeah, I know, it… it doesn’t matter. Jason, look, I… I got so worried for you, I swear to God, I… I was out there, I thought… I was trying to…”

Jason’s hands suddenly take his own. “Come on,” he murmurs softly. “Come on in, you’ll freeze—”

Dick tightens the grip on his hands and stays steady, keeping him close, shaking his head in denial. “No, I… I won’t. I just had to… I _needed_ to tell you—”

“Shit, man, come on, you’re—”

“I am so sorry, Jason. I am so sorry.”

Jason blushes. His mouth opens and closes again. “I—”

“I wasn’t good to you. I wasn’t… fair or clear. I made… so many mistakes—”

“Dick, come on. It was my fault that—”

“No, Jason, it wasn’t. It was mine. You were under my care, and I… I fucked everything up. And not just with you. There are things you don’t—”

“I know,” Jason says quietly. “Hank and Dawn told me.”

Dick looks away before nodding, slowly. He suddenly feels exhausted.

“What are you going to do now?”

Dick looks back at him. “I’ll go find Jericho’s mother,” he admits, feeling like there’s no reason to hide his intentions at this point.

Jason looks at him like he’s gone mad. _“Deathstroke’s_ wife?!”

“Ex-wife. They’re—”

“Dude!” Jason exclaims, sitting his butt beside him on the windowsill. “Have you lost your mind? This asshole’s crazy about his family, isn’t he? That’s what I’ve been told! And now like, what, you wanna— He’ll be _waiting_ for you!”

Dick winces. “I don’t think so.”

“Man, I’m telling you, this isn’t a good idea, it’s—”

“I owe this woman an apology, Jason,” he quietly says, against the lump blocking his throat. “I… got her son killed.”

Jason viciously shakes his head. “You didn’t want this to happen!”

Dick snorts. “No. But it did. I got him killed… as much as Slade did. If not more. Just like I almost got _you_ killed as well, Jason.”

“Don’t say that again,” Jason murmurs. “We’re cool, okay? We’re cool.”

Dick isn’t sure if the boy really means that. If he does, then he’s actually carrying a heart of gold. But even if he doesn’t, the fact that he’s caring enough to let it go for the time being just to comfort him means that he holds no grudges either way.

“What else would you have me do?” he asks, quite honestly, actually wanting his opinion.

Jason hesitates for a moment. “You could… I don’t know… stay, maybe? I know, I know Bruce is angry right now, but I don’t think he’d kick you out, especially if—”

“That’s not an option, Jason.” The fact that he’s even suggested it means the world to him right now, warming his heart just a little bit, but facts are facts.

Jason sighs quietly. “Then… before you do anything, before you make any decision on… anything, really, I think you need to… rest for a while. Just… take it easy, man. Take a breath. Clear your head. Think all of this through. Just, you know, you and yourself. Or you could be with someone else, someone… not involved in any of this, maybe? Someone that knows you, preferably.”

Dick lets the words sink in, and realizes that, as Jason speaks, there is only one single person in his mind. Someone he hasn’t seen in like… forever, but suddenly… suddenly, the urge is _huge._

He forces himself out of retrospection and lifts his eyes up again. “Don’t you worry about me. You just… just take care of yourself, okay?”

Jason nods, even though he looks reluctant, and actually upset. Like he doesn’t want to let him go, and it’s just… it’s so cute and pure, and Dick needs this so much at this point that he surpasses any hesitation and, gently reaching forward, pulls him into his arms.

It’s brief, but it’s warm; warm, honest, and real.

“Don’t hesitate to call me, alright?” he urges him. “For anything you need, even if it doesn’t seem serious enough. Even if you just want vent because the old man’s becoming insufferable.”

Jason blinks. “When are you coming back?”

Dick looks far and away. Over the gardens, over the forest, over the roads, over the city lights glowing in the night.

“I don’t know, little wing. I really don’t know."

* * *

Bruce enters Jason’s bedroom at exactly 00:30 a.m., once he gets back from the gala. He opens the door quietly, not to disturb the boy in case he’s already fallen asleep. He’s not surprised, however, when he finds a room still lit and his boy reading a book, tucked under the covers.

“Hey,” he smiles, sitting by him on the bed.

Jason murmurs a hello back and puts his book aside, a slight frown on his face. “Won’t you go out tonight?”

“In a while,” he answers, studying him carefully. “Is something the matter?”

Jason just stares at him for a few moments. “Dick came to see me. From the window, like a thief or something. And he didn’t say it, but I bet it was because you told him not to.”

Bruce winces, shifting a bit. “Jason, Dick… he made mistakes. Severe mistakes.”

“So what?” Jason angrily retorts. “You’re just gonna shut him out? I made mistakes too! I sure as hell I’ll make a whole bunch of those in the future as well! Are you gonna shut _me_ out as well if I—”

“ _His_ mistakes almost got you killed!” he growls, his eyes narrowing.

Jason pouts deeply. “He was like… like, _done,_ man, off! Like… broken!”

The hand that hasn’t stopped squeezing his heart ever since he laid eyes on Dick tightens its grip without mercy. “You think it pleases me, that I have to do this? That I don’t want his well-being, that my mind isn’t on him as well?”

“Then how can you treat him like this?” Jason exclaims.

Bruce inhales. He moves so that he sits by the boy, his back against the headboard. “Dick has always been… incredibly charismatic. More importantly… he’s got a heart of gold in his chest. He loves people, always tries to see the best in them, always tries to protect them. But even so… no matter how much he’s grown… he’s still a child, Jason. At least he _acts_ like one. He’s overconfident, afraid to tell the truth, hides things of great importance from his own partners, fails into making his students trust him… I’ve made all of those mistakes myself, but unfortunately, no one was there to stop me. I don’t want him to be like me, not on this part. It will tear him apart. He’s lost his way, Jason. He allowed his guilt to drive him, to sink him into desperation, to make him reckless. When you have kids depending on you, you cannot allow yourself to go down to this. He needs to come back to himself, and I can’t help him with that. He’s been projecting his guilt over everything that’s happened on me, but it’s actually high time that he faces the truth and takes responsibility for his own actions that brought him down to this. He needs space and time.”

Jason snorts, facing away. Obviously not liking what he’s hearing.

Bruce slips his arm around his shoulders and pulls him close. “Trust me on this, yes?” he gently requests. “I would never let him get hurt, Jason. I promise you that.”

He slowly feels the boy’s muscles relaxing, even if he doesn’t get a response.

“All things considered,” Bruce adds after a while, a faint smile slightly lifts the corners of his lips, “it’s sweet that you care,”

“I ain’t caring!” Jason pouts, cheeks obviously blushing.

Bruce runs fingers through those cute, messy hair and pulls his head on his shoulder, smiling himself as he kisses his forehead. Jason easily leans against him, getting comfortable. Not complaining for the pampering he receives this time.

“Everything will be alright,” he promises. “And Dick will come back once he’s ready. You’ll see."

* * *

He leaves the Manor. Leaves Gotham, too.

He stops in some travel inn by the side of the road. Takes a shower and sleeps. For four hours. That’s all he manages.

He returns the car the very next day, at the airport, before heading for his flight.

Almost five hours later, he’s exiting the plane, stepping foot in Utah for the first time in his life. He rents another car and heads for Park City, about thirty miles away, up in the mountains. A beautiful city, as far as he can tell from checking online. About eight thousand locals, and a whole lot of tourists, especially in winter. It’s early spring right now, so he guesses it won’t be too crowded.

The bar ‘Paesano’ isn’t hard to find. Not far from the main road, but still, in a calmer spot, away from most of the noise. He parks the car and simply stands there for a while, somehow just _now_ hesitating, after he’s made all this way.

Eventually, he gathers himself and enters.

It’s spacious, and cozy. Rustic; lots of wood. A bit vintage, and traditional. It’s late afternoon, and there are three companies of three or four people each sprawled around in different tables, a lone man with his laptop and a glass of beer in one quiet corner, and a middle-aged native woman with a toddler sitting on a stool in the bar. And, of course, a waitress, too busy checking her phone, and the bartender, talking to the woman on the stool and playing with the baby.

The nostalgic smile comes spontaneously to his lips. It’s embarrassing, but he’s actually melting a bit inside, just now realizing how much he’d missed him.

He approaches and places his duffel bag down on the floor, right beside the woman with the baby, making it impossible not to be seen.

Green eyes immediately turn to set on him. And then, his dear friend’s jaw drops.

“Hey, Roy.”

For as long as it takes for his friend to push the shock aside, Dick settles for observing him better. It instantly makes him considerably happier; seeing just how good he looks. Last time he’d seen him up close, almost six years ago, he…

No. _No._ He’s not doing this right now. He doesn’t want to think about those times. He doesn’t want to be thinking of Roy being thin as a twig, just muscles and skin over bones, eyes hazed and sank, glassy. No. And he’s pretty sure Roy doesn’t want that either.

But, looking at him now! Strong, tall, _healthy._ Full face, bright eyes, color on his cheeks. Vividness in his moves. Ginger hair hanging around the flanks of his neck. His sleeves pushed up to his elbows; no vicious signs of abuse mark his arms anymore. Obviously having put _everything_ behind him. Having moved on.

There’s an exclamation. A laugh.

“Holy mother of _—Dick Grayson!!”_

Dick laughs a bit as well, relieved that he can still remember how to do that, as Roy climbs and jumps off the counter instead of making all the way around it and pulls him in his arms. Dick hugs him back, trying not to burst into tears. Even once the tight embrace breaks, Roy still doesn’t let him go completely, his hands clasping Dick’s arms. He’s still laughing in surprise, a thousand questions coming up all at once.

“When did you—! I mean, how—! Man, what the hell, come here!” he laughs, and hugs him again.

Dick wonders if he’s still going to be this happy to see him when he hears… everything. What he’s done. Roy wasn’t in the team back then. Actually, him quitting to go into rehab was the reason why Garth had come in to replace him in the first place, so… he doesn’t know. Not details, at least.

For now, he simply gives into the joy of seeing his friend again. Listens to him chattering on his own. Accepts the beer he pushes in front of him.

“… and what, don’t you dare tell me you booked into a hotel or something?”

“Nah, no, I just figured I’d find something anyway—”

“Bull-crap,” Roy spells, frowning. “You’re coming home. I still have about half an hour left, then we’ll go get you settled… unless, of course, you’ve got a problem with my… very, very sweet little roommate,” he lets out a titter.

Dick laughs as well, one brow arching. “Roy Harper having settled with a lady? Now that’s a must-see.”

Roy wets his lips, smile turning a bit more… mysterious. “You could… put it that way, I guess.”

“Look, Roy, seriously, I don’t want to be a burden—”

“She’s far too young to be bothered, Dickie.”

Dick watches him turning to the woman with the baby. For a moment there, the possibilities running through his head feel kind of… incredulous.

“Dick, this is Chenoa,” he introduces the woman to him. “She’s a neighbor. Chen, that’s Dick Grayson. Childhood friend.”

Dick loves the simplicity Roy introduces him with. “Nice to meet you,” he says politely, reaching out his hand.

The woman takes it with a smile. “Likewise.”

Roy leans over the counter, towards the baby. Now that he takes a better look, Dick realizes that it’s a little girl, looking like… Asian, or Asian-American, actually. Not at all Native American, like Chen.

“And this,” Roy fills in, “is Lian. She’s one -plus two months. Lian, baby? Will you say hello to uncle Dickie?”

At first, Dick feels it’s a little weird to be introduced like that to a random baby. Then, the little cuteness gives one of those adorable baby laughs, reaching out a small, chubby hand to touch Roy’s face.

“Da-da-da!” the baby babbles tenderly.

It’s Dick’s turn to have his jaw dropped.

Roy laughs at his expression, turning his head to kiss that little hand on his face, before straightening his back. “I have to wait for Dan to get here for the night shift, can you get her with you, Chen? I’ll come get her on my way home.”

The woman smiles and nods. She waves Dick goodbye. Doesn’t seem offended that Dick can’t currently move a muscle.

“Byyyye, baby giiiirl, byyyyee!” Roy sings, waving himself, and the baby actually does wave back at him.

Once they’ve exited the bar, Roy turns to face him again. “Yeah, it’s exactly what you think,” he grins at him, picking up two stray glasses from close by. “Whenever you’re ready, Grayson.”

Dick’s mouth still hasn’t closed, and what the hell, he believes he does reserve the right to be shocked at the revelation.

“Chen is great,” Roy starts talking while cleaning up a bit. “She takes care of Lian while I’m working. Money’s, uh… a bit tight right now. It was perfectly fine when I was on my own, but now… yeah. Not currently enough for a daycare. And so far, I didn’t have the time to look for anything, but, as a matter of fact, the city’s recreational center announced they want to create an Archery Club, and, oh well… even if someone else does appear, I highly doubt I can’t beat competition on that part, at least. Waaaaaay better salary.”

A billion questions are running through huge black screens in his mind. How? When? With _whom?_ Where was she right now, why is he alone in this?! Does anyone **_know_** about this?! Oliver, Dinah? He doubts Donna would know -had that been the case, he’d have heard by now. _How come none of them **knows?**_

Yeah. A billion questions, indeed. And out of all of those, all Dick manages to croak is a weak, “You… you have a… a baby!”

“Mm-hm,” Roy smiles faintly, before picking up his eyes to catch his gaze. “Isn’t she a sweetheart?”

Dick blinks. Shakes his head roughly, incredulously, trying to wave the shock away. Laughs a bit, nervously.

“Roy,” he then says softly, turning to look at the door. “Roy, she’s… she’s _gorgeous!”_

The smile Roy gives is the proudest he’s ever seen on his friend’s face.

“Finish your beer, Dickie-bird. We got tons of catching up, both of us.”

Dick takes slow sips from his drink, waiting for Roy to finish, and for Dan to arrive.

Jason was right. Bruce was… kind of right too. This is all he needs right now.

He’ll just take his time. And then he’ll fix everything.

**Author's Note:**

> My Tumblr: [Lady Paper Writerson's](https://ladypaperwriterson.tumblr.com/)


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